Is there any limit to what a great soprano can do? There’s a host of roles that astonish and delight us: true showcases of extraordinary musical and dramatic talent from across the history of opera. We’ve gathered together some of our favourites, starting with…

Mozart wrote the role of the Queen in The Magic Flute for his sister-in-law Josepha Hofer, who was famous for her outstanding vocal technique and high notes. The Queen of the Night’s two dramatic arias are accordingly packed with fiendish coloratura, taking the soprano voice to amazing heights, particularly in the Act II aria ‘Die Hölle Rache’.

Elena is one of several roles that Rossini wrote for his first wife Isabella Colbran. Colbran had an exceptionally wide vocal range and the writing for Elena spans the gamut. The opera culminates in one of Rossini’s greatest showpieces for the female voice: Elena’s virtuoso Act II aria ‘Tanti affetti’.

Norma requires immense stamina, vocal agility and (particularly for the aria ‘Casta diva’) lyricism and beauty of tone. But the challenges don’t stop there: the singer also has to convey the varied and intense emotions of a heroine torn between religious devotion and jealousy, romantic passion and maternal love.

Lucia is another role that makes huge demands on a soprano’s stamina: she has to retain enough energy through the demands of Acts I and II in order to carry off Act III’s famous mad scene – a breathtaking display containing a stratospheric virtuoso cadenza accompanied by glass harmonica.

Abigaille is a notoriously difficult part: it calls for a singer with a powerful, very agile voice who can move from the bottom to the very top of her range at great speed. Even the most lyrical of Abigaille’s arias, ‘Anch’io dischiuso un giorno’, includes a thrilling two-octave leap.

Brünnhilde is often seen as a dramatic soprano’s ultimate challenge. She must sound equally comfortable in the high notes of her opening war cry in Die Walküre and in the low-lying passages that punctuate Götterdämmerung. She must be heroic and tender, vengeful and noble. And above all, she must have the stamina to sing in three operas, each more than five hours long!

Olympia the doll is only on stage for about half an hour, and for much of that time simply says ‘oui’. But her one aria ‘Les oiseaux dans la charmille’ is a virtuoso tour de force, each verse adorned with ever more elaborate coloratura. The part also calls for comic acting: Olympia’s mechanics periodically run down and stop her mid-flow.

At 90 minutes, Elektra is relatively short role – but it’s fiercely difficult. The singer has to project over a vast, intricately-scored orchestra and sing some of the most dramatic, declamatory music ever written for soprano, while also conveying lyrical tenderness in her reunion scene with Orest. She also needs to retain enough physical energy for the dance which brings the opera to its devastating close.

Like Elektra, Turandot requires a powerful high voice and a singer able to execute very declamatory vocal writing with ease. The role also poses dramatic challenges: how can a soprano make this murderous princess sympathetic enough to convince us she deserves a happy ending?

This near-impossible part requires a singer with a three-octave range who can shift from intense lyricism to flamboyant high coloratura to speech – sometimes within the space of one aria. The character is also dramatically deeply enigmatic, and is onstage for every scene of this four-hour opera.

Possibly the highest role ever written for soprano, Adès’s ‘airy spirit’ enters The Tempest singing 17 full-voiced Es two and a bit octaves above middle C – and continues in a similar range for most of the opera. The high notes aren’t limited to coloratura either: many of them are in slow and sustained passages, which is fiendishly challenging.

Which fiendishly difficult roles would you include?
Let us know in the comments below.

Boris is back - and conveniently for us, compiling this list in date order means the Royal Opera House Prom comes out on top. With a cast led by bass-baritone Bryn Terfel and conducted by Antonio Pappano, this concert performance of Mussorgsky’s operatic masterpiece tells the tragic tale of a Russian Tsar plagued by guilt. The semi-staged performance is preceded by a workshop from the BBC Singers, where aspiring performers can join in with some of the opera’s choruses.

Fresh from conducting Verdi’s epic Il trovatoreon the Covent Garden stage, Gianandrea Noseda is at the helm of – if possible – an even larger masterpiece. Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis was composed over four years towards the end of the composer’s life and is considered to be is one of his supreme achievements. With a stellar cast of singers including soprano Camilla Nylund, mezzo-soprano Birgit Remmert, tenor Stuart Skelton, bass Hanno Müller-Brachmann, the Hallé Choir, Manchester Chamber Choir and BBC Philharmonic, the effect is sure to be breathtaking.

A full day of Wagner may feel relatively short for those attuned to his lengthy operas – but for newcomers to this composer’s work, 11 July should serve as an introduction. Prom 10 at 11am showcases the 'Ride of the Valkyries' from Die Walküre in a family-friendly performance, alongside other classical staples from the BBC’s Ten Pieces series – music designed to open up the world of classical music to children and young people. The evening’s Prom 11 includes the final scene from Die Walküre, alongside Tippett’s contemplative oratorio, A Child of Our Time.

There’s something of a Rossini focus at this year’s BBC Proms, and who better to celebrate the 200th anniversary of The Barber of Seville than our friends at Glyndebourne? Danielle de Niese leads the cast as Rosina, a young girl eager to escape the elderly Bartolo's affection, with comic consequences. There’s also a pre-concert talk for those wanting to learn more about the role and politics of hair-styling in 18th- and 19th-century Europe (!) with Alun Withey and historian Kathryn Hughes.

A suitably Shakespearean recommendation in the 400th anniversary of his death. This performance takes regular Prommers away from the familiar surroundings of the Royal Albert Hall to an altogether smaller performance space: the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse at Shakespeare's Globe. Expect English Baroque music in spades, with music by Purcell, Blow, Locke and Draghi, as well as incidental music for Shakespeare’s The Tempest.

Tenor Gregory Kunde stars alongside mezzo-soprano Alice Coote and the Hallé in Mahler’s synthesis of song and symphony, Das Lied von der Erde, conducted byMark Elder. Continuing the Season’s focus on cello music, (kicking off on the First Night with a digital light projection from Sol Gabetta), Leonard Elschenbroich will perform a London premiere: Colin Matthews’s Berceuse for Dresden, which takes inspiration from the eight bells of the Dresden church at which it was premiered.

A dream team of singers assemble for a concert performance of Janáček’s tragic satire, The Makropulos Affair, performed under the baton of Czech conductorJiří Běhlohlávek. Finnish soprano Karita Mattila — acclaimed for her portrayal of the opera’s heroine at New York’s Metropolitan Opera — leads the cast.

A rare treat to hear music from Beethoven’s only opera, Fidelio. Despite his prolific musical output, the composer appeared to struggle with the overture, eventually writing four versions. This version (Leonore No. 2)is the first attempt and is thought to have been composed for the 1805 premiere – but nowadays the final version, Leonore No. 1, much lighter in style and with fresh musical material, is often heard in performance. This Prom also features András Schiff playing the Piano Concerto No. 5 in E flat major, 'Emperor', and the Symphony No. 7, performed by the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra and conducted by Herbert Blomstedt.

The conductor affectionately dubbed ‘The Dude’ is back, conducting the Simón Bolívar Symphony Orchestra in their first Proms appearance since 2011. In this Olympic year, the Proms is celebrating South American music and musicians with a premiere of Venezuelan composer Paul Desenne’s Hipnosis mariposa, alongside Villa-Lobos’s effervescent orchestral tribute to J. S. Bach, Bachianas Brasileiras No 2. For ballet fans, the performance ends with two dizzying works by Ravel: La Valse, originally conceived as a ballet but now frequently heard as a concert work, and the Suite No. 2 from Daphnis and Chloe.

There’s much more to the Last Night than tub-thumping Elgar and flag-waving pomp (although if that’s your cup of tea, you won’t be disappointed). Peruvian tenor Juan Diego Flórez is the star soloist for a diverse evening of music, including 'Una furtiva lagrima’ from Donizetti’sL'elisir d'amore, 'Ah ! mes amis' from La fille du regiment, as well as a generous helping of lush English song. Jette Parker Young ArtistLauren Fagan is also set to perform in a jewel in the evening’s programme, Vaughan Williams’ Serenade to Music, scored for 16 soloists, alongside the BBC Singers and BBC Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Sakari Oramo. Don your black tie and get queuing!

What are you most looking forward to seeing at this year’s BBC Proms?
Let us know via the comments below.

As any cellist, harpist, or (perish the thought) double bassist will tell you, there are few things more annoying than lugging your over-sized pride and joy to and from rehearsals, jamming it into the back of a car, crushing through the barriers on the tube, or inelegantly dragging it up and down flights of stairs.

These are the large instrument-playing unfortunates who are routinely pestered with that most infamous of muso cat-calls: 'Bet you wish you'd taken up the flute?'.

Spare a thought, then, for the ill-fated player of an altogether more cumbersome orchestral instrument: the anvil.

The epitome of a heavy and clumsy object - perfect for dropping onto a cartoon villain should the need arise - this hardened steel surface is designed to be struck with an enormous hammer; the larger the better. A fact which makes its popularity on the opera stage, most notably, in Verdi's smash hit, Il trovatore, all the more surprising. How on earth are performers expected to get it to and from the rehearsals (and, of course, the pub afterwards)?

While this line of argument is, of course, to be taken with a hefty pinch of salt, the fact is that this unlikely hunk of metal has made quite an impact on the world of classical music. Despite its size and its hugely limited range, this forged steel block is a key player in Verdi's middle-period masterpiece, in the unimaginatively nicknamed 'Anvil Chorus' (otherwise, known with much more zip as the 'Coro di zingari'). Verdi's musical direction in the score is that the singers, not the percussionist, should be the ones to hit the anvils in time to the music, with basses playing on the beat, and tenors on the offbeat. As the large Italian chorus sing the praises of hard work, good wine, and gypsy women, the effect is striking in every sense of the word: the dull chime of the anvil adds a unique tone to the now famous tune, and there's something quite hypnotic about the view of a stage full of people hitting hammers on every other beat as they sing.

But it's not just Verdi who saw the anvil's potential on the opera stage. Wagner, true to form, pushed the boat out in Das Rheingold, using not one, but 18 anvils - nine small, six medium, and three large - tuned to F three octaves apart. Siegfried, too, made use of the instrument's trademark timbre, unsurprisingly in the 'forging song', 'Hoho! Hoho! Hohei!', as Siegfried carefully crafts his sword. Wagner's considerable influence on heavy metal has never been more literal.

When attempting to bring suitably metallic pieces to life, other big-hitting composers turned to the anvil: Britten and Walton both used the instrument to conjure a ‘Babylonian’ sound in their works. In The Burning Fiery Furnace, Britten uses the anvil, alongside a lyra glockenspiel and small cymbals to take his audiences back in time, musically. Walton, too, in Belshazzar's Feast, puts the metallic sound to good use in ‘Praise’: as the chorus sing praises to the gods of various materials, the composer brings appropriate instruments to the fore – trumpets for the god of gold, flutes for the god of silver, and anvils for the god of iron.

More recently, anvils have made their mark in the worlds of film music, minimalism, and pop, as composers used the instrument’s metallic properties to add depth to their pieces. Howard Shore, John Williams, and James Horner have each used it in film scores, and Louis Andriessen wrote an extended passage for solo anvils in his work De Materie (Matter), with text on the subject of shipbuilding. Even former Beatle Ringo Starr dabbled in anvil playing in arguably its most mainstream outing: the darkly eccentric hit Maxwell's Silver Hammer.

While a ‘concerto for anvil’ may not top the classical charts any time soon, there’s no doubt that this obscure instrument has forged something of a niche for itself. And in a time-poor age where we're constantly being told to work fitness into our daily regime, which other instruments allow their player to get a full-on workout and save on a gym membership while performing? One thing's for sure - you can't say that for the dainty flute.

Verdi forged a new operatic tradition when he made the lead character of Il trovatore a mezzo-soprano. In a letter to librettist Francesco Maria Piave, the composer described Azucena as the principal role, the one that (if he were a prima donna!) he would wish to sing. Verdi’s decision would have exciting consequences not only for his operas but for the art form as a whole.

The term ‘mezzo-soprano’ was first used in the early 18th century to describe female voices placed between the increasingly high-lying soprano and the low, dark-hued contralto. For years it was rarely used. Handel’s lower female parts are mostly for contralto, while Mozart’s lead female roles were all written for soprano – even ones such as Cherubino (Le nozze di Figaro), now usually sung by mezzos.

With the decline of castratos early in the 19th century, mezzos began to take on heroic young male roles, such as Romeo in Bellini’s I Capuleti e i Montecchi. A number of exceptional mezzos were also muses for bel canto composers – singers such as Isabella Colbran, who created the title role in Rossini’s La donna del lago. But sopranos still dominated – it wasn’t until Verdi’s 17th opera that he put a mezzo in the spotlight.

Azucena was worth the wait. The role presents exciting dramatic challenges, and also provides a chance to show off the characteristic wide range of the mezzo-soprano voice. Azucena’s first interpreter, Emilia Goggi, was a former soprano, and Verdi contrasts dramatic low-lying passages with thrilling forays into the high register, in a part that covers more than two octaves. Small wonder that Azucena remains a dream role for many singers.

It was more than a decade until Verdi returned to the mezzo voice, but with Eboli (Don Carlo) and Amneris (Aida) he created two mezzo-soprano roles equal in stature to the operas’ soprano heroines. In both cases, Verdi uses the mezzo’s rich timbre and wide range to depict sensual and troubled young women. They are among his most fascinating characters, and both inspired Verdi to create wonderful music, such as Eboli’s flamboyant ‘Veil Song’ and ‘O don fatale’ and Amneris’s anguished Act IV soliloquy.

Verdi was not the only composer to realize the mezzo-soprano’s potential. Berlioz wrote most of his lead roles for this voice type, as he preferred its rich timbre to the brighter soprano. Bizet and Massenet put the mezzo’s dark, warm timbre to varied uses, with the sensual gypsy Carmen and the motherly Charlotte in Werther. In Russia, mezzo-sopranos often played sensual, energetic female characters, who contrasted with innocent soprano heroines, as with Lyubasha and Marfa in The Tsar’s Bride.

By the 20th century, the growing bank of mezzo roles had produced more star mezzo singers. These singers not only inspired the composers of their day to create new roles, but also began to take on roles originally created for sopranos that demanded both strong low and middle registers and powerful high notes. Parts such as Kundry in Wagner’s Parsifal and Octavian in Strauss’s Der Rosenkavalier, though first sung by sopranos, are now mezzo territory. Meanwhile, singers such as Janet Baker had many new roles created for them, most notably by Britten and Walton.

Today the mezzo-soprano continues to be in the ascendant, with the heroines of Heggie’s Dead Man Walking, Maw’s Sophie’s Choice, Adès’s The Tempest (Miranda) and Birtwistle’s The Minotaur (Ariadne) all written for this vocal type. As Verdi realized back in the 1850s, if you’re looking to create a sensual and emotionally complex female character, the wide range and warm tones of the mezzo-soprano voice are irresistible.

Il trovatore runs 1 December 2016-8 February 2017.
Tickets go on sale to Friends of Covent Garden on 21 September 2016. General booking opens on 18 October 2016.

‘It’s phenomenal music, with a truth to it that I think I seldom feel in other things’, says Emma Bell, who sings Elisabeth in The Royal Opera’s production of Tannhäuser. Conductor Hartmut Haenchen agrees: ‘I always say, it’s quite simple – go, and feel what the music is telling you, and you will love it.’

Wagner’s Tannhäuser ‘is a very open work’, explains Christian Gerhaher, who sings Wolfram. ‘Before he died he said to Cosima, “I owe another Tannhäuser to the world”.’ Of the many versions Wagner produced over a thirty-year period, Haenchen prefers the last ‘Vienna’ version, from 1875. ‘What he did finally for Venusberg was to take his experience of Tristan und Isolde and make this incredible music. And the other world [of the Wartburg] is quite dry, quite traditional, quite simple. I love to have these different worlds – then you understand Tannhäuser much more.’

For Gerhaher, ‘The really interesting thing to me is I don’t believe that Tannhäuser ever loved Elisabeth. It comes to this tragedy that he has to face this unloved woman and has to lie, lie lie. And so the tragedy is clear. It is like a catastrophic movie – everyone knows it will be horrible. Nothing can end in the right way, because everything is wrong’.

‘If you look to the figures of all the women in Wagner’s operas there is one big idea’, adds Haenchen. ‘He was really convinced that only women could do something good for this world. This was his musical statement in nearly every opera.’ Bell agrees: ‘this idea that a woman puts herself on the line in a way that men don’t, necessarily, seems to me quite an obvious historical point here.’

‘Wagner is not only loud’, says Haenchen. ‘Mostly you have Wagner from the beginning to the end; it’s four hours and a lot of noise. But it’s so different, the sound should be so different and you should play with the words and play with really extreme dynamics.’ Gerhaher agrees: ‘This is for me the right attitude, to weigh the importance of every word and clearly depict this importance by colourization, dynamical differentiation and tempo development.’

Ultimately, ‘It’s a lot more accessible than we’ve all been led to believe’, says Bell. ‘It’s been put on this pedestal and barbed wire’s been put on the stem and everyone’s said now see if you can reach through. I think that just needs to be ripped down. Just give it a go, it’s so truthful.’

The production is given with generous philanthropic support from Dr and Mrs Michael West, Simon and Virginia Robertson, Maggie Copus, Peter and Fiona Espenhahn, Malcolm Herring, the Tannhäuser Production Syndicate and the Wagner Circle.

The storyIn order to preserve the ailing Lammermoor fortune, Enrico wants his sister Lucia to marry advantageously. He is horrified to learn she has actually fallen in love with his sworn enemy, Edgardo.

The musicDonizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor is perhaps best-known for Lucia’s Act III 'mad scene', but the Act II sextet 'Chi mi frena in tal momento' is almost as well-known. It was rapturously applauded at the opera’s premiere and went on to influence such composers as Verdi. It was also one of the first ever opera ensembles to be recorded.

The storyMusician Heinrich Tannhäuser leaves his home in the Wartburg to become the consort of the goddess Venus. Growing tired of her hedonistic realm, he decides to return to his old life and his beloved, Elisabeth. But if Elisabeth and his comrades learn where he has been, will they ever forgive him?

The storyOedipe’s parents plot his murder after they discover he is destined to murder his father and marry his mother. However, their plans go awry and he is raised as a prince of Corinth. Discovering the prophecy, he flees Corinth – only unwittingly to kill his true father and marry his mother.

The musicThe score calls for haunting saxophone solos, grand orchestral passages, and extreme, chromatic harmonies. The icing on the cake comes at the end of the opera, which according to conductor Leo Hussain is 'one of the most beautiful, moving and thrilling arias that exists'.

The storyJacopo Foscari, son of the Doge of Venice, is convicted of murder and treason. His wife Lucrezia is sure of his innocence. But the Doge, trapped by the machinations of a corrupt city, is forced to make a terrible decision.

The musicIn his sixth opera Verdi concentrates on the intense relationships between his leading characters, rather than grand dramatic effects. Highlights of the score include one of Verdi’s earliest great duets for soprano and baritone, where Lucrezia pleads with the Doge for her husband’s life in Act I, and the passionate finale that closes Act II.

This weekend, thousands will push the limits of their endurance at the London Marathon. Long distance runners often claim that feats of stamina are transformative events, something that will resonate with opera fans who relish the power of the repertory's lengthier works.

In tribute to both groups' dedication, we've dug out the stopwatch to determine opera's longest works:

Wagner's only comedy, Meistersinger explores the relationship of art and artists with society. Kasper Holten makes his farewell as Director of The Royal Opera with a new production of Wagner’s comic opera in Spring 2017.

Glass’s non-narrative opera breaks all operatic convention. Taking place over five hours, in its recent staging at the Barbican, audiences were allowed to enter and exit when they pleased during the performance.

One of Richard Strauss' best-known works, Der Rosenkavalier is at first glimpse a comic opera, but look closer and deeper themes emerge. The Royal Opera's new production starring Renée Fleming has its premiere in Winter 2017.

Based on the 1787 dramatic poem by Friedrich Schiller, Verdi’s Don Carlo dangerously intertwines politics and religion and love in 16th century Spain. Nicholas Hytner’s acclaimed Royal Opera production returns to the Covent Garden in Spring 2017.

Richard Wagner’s Tannhäuser contains few arias, but the small number it has are all remarkable for their beauty. Best known perhaps is Wolfram’s Act III aria ‘O du, mein holder Abendstern’, his hymn to the Evening Star. This beautiful aria is unusual within Wagner’s style. It is more Italianate than is usual for Wagner, arguably modelled on the preghiera (prayer) aria popular in bel canto and Verdi. It it one of Wagner’s very few arias for baritone, rather than his more usual writing for the lower bass-baritone (the Dutchman, Wotan, Hans Sachs) or bass (Daland, Hagen, Gurnemanz). Finally, it’s a rare example of a Wagnerian male character behaving altruistically.

Wolfram’s altruism is the linchpin of his character. He loves Elisabeth, but accepts her fidelity to Tannhäuser, and devotes all his efforts to bringing the couple together. When in Act III Elisabeth decides to die in order to save Tannhäuser’s soul, he accepts her decision, rather than urging her to forget her absent beloved. Even when Elisabeth refuses to let him accompany her on her final journey home, Wolfram makes no protest, and instead remains alone as she leaves to delicate, ecclesiastical-sounding chords in the woodwind. Harp arpeggios herald the start of Wolfram’s Hymn.

Wolfram initially sings in arioso (between speech and song), reflecting on the darkness of the evening to melancholy, low-pitched music, accompanied by slow funereal chords in the brass. The aching dissonances as he describes the soul yearning to escape the world convey his sorrow at Elisabeth’s approaching death. But as Wolfram catches sight of the Evening Star, he takes comfort in its light, marked by ethereal high tremolo strings, delicate musical textures and the quickening, higher vocal line. To rippling harp arpeggios, he prays for Elisabeth’s safe journey from earth to Heaven.

This main section of the aria highlights both Wolfram’s tenderness and his restraint. On the one hand, the often chromatic melodic lines and the delicate ornamentation of the word ‘Engel’ (angel) reflect Wolfram’s love for Elisabeth and pain at losing her. On the other, the aria’s formal structure, with its steady harp and string accompaniment (reminiscent of various Italian bel canto arias), regular eight-bar phrases, measured pace and muted dynamics show how Wolfram keeps his emotions firmly under control – he is, after all, the same man whose song in praise of chaste love in the Act II Song Contest so riled the passionate Tannhäuser.

Only in the final phrases of the aria, as the string accompaniment changes from arpeggios to more agitated tremolos, and the funereal horns return, do we feel that Wolfram’s sorrow may overcome him. However, he masters himself in the final bars, and closes his aria in an exquisite pianissimo (very soft) final phrase. The orchestra quietly echoes the aria’s opening melody – until the arrival of the tormented Tannhäuser shatters the meditative atmosphere.

Wagner’s principal male characters – with a few exceptions – tend to be combative types, at odds with society. Wolfram, like Hans Sachs, is unusual in his acceptance of his fate, and his determination to help others, even if he himself suffers in the process. Never is his stoicism more movingly displayed than in ‘O du, mein holder Abendstern’, both an expression of his devotion to Elisabeth, and an example of how a musician can express such devotion, and perhaps find some solace, through their art.

The production is given with generous philanthropic support from Dr and Mrs Michael West, Simon and Virginia Robertson, Maggie Copus, Peter and Fiona Espenhahn, Malcolm Herring, the Tannhäuser Production Syndicate and the Wagner Circle.

The musician Heinrich Tannhäuser leaves his home in the Wartburg to become the consort of the goddess Venus. Growing tired of her hedonistic realm, he decides to return to his old life and his former beloved, Elisabeth. But if Elisabeth and his comrades learn where he has been, will they ever forgive him?

From cautionary tale to drama of redemption

Wagner based the story of Tannhäuser on the 16th-century poem Das Lied von dem Danheüser, and its satirical adaptation by Heinrich Heine. As so often, Wagner substantially altered the story for his operatic adaptation, in this case by adding the characters of the loyal and long-suffering Wolfram (based on a real German poet), and Elisabeth, who saves Tannhäuser through her unselfish love.

Tim Albery’s production highlights the dilemma of Tannhäuser, caught between two contrasting worlds, both of which have their delights and their dangers. The hedonistic, sensual atmosphere of the Venusberg has its sinister side (shown in the Act I ballet), while the Wartburg is austere and war-torn, the Hall of Song a ruin of a once-splendid building, where the Landgraf's men patrol with guns. Tannhäuser struggles to belong in either society.

From Dresden to Paris – and on

The premiere of Tannhäuser took place at the Dresden Court Opera on 19 October 1845. Further performances followed throughout Germany in the 1850s. Wagner rewrote the opera for Paris in 1861, adding a ballet (and breaking Parisian tradition by having it in Act I), enlarging the Venusberg scene and cutting Walther’s Act II aria. A third version, for Vienna (the version performed by The Royal Opera) had its first performance in 1875. Wagner was planning further revisions at the time of his death in 1883.

The production is staged with generous philanthropic support from Dr and Mrs Michael West, Simon and Virginia Robertson, Maggie Copus, Peter and Fiona Espenhahn, Malcolm Herring, The Metherell family, the Tannhäuser Production Syndicate and the Wagner Circle.

Mozart’s final years were hobbled by debt, but he certainly wasn’t short of work. The premieres of his last two operas came almost on top of one another, La clemenza di Tito on 6 September 1791 and Die Zauberflöte a few weeks later on the 30th. Mozart had probably mostly finished Die Zauberflöte in July, and put it to one side as he speedily wrote Tito in time for the new emperor’s coronation. So Die Zauberflöte is perhaps only nominally a final opera – and yet its bewitching (if sometimes befuddling) story and achingly beautiful music have made Die Zauberflöte one of Mozart’s best-loved operas. Final opera or not, it’s an enchanting showcase of the composer’s genius.

Gioachino Rossini’s Guillaume Tell, 1829

Rossini was 32 when he moved to Paris in 1824. Here he wrote the sophisticated occasion piece Il viaggio a Reims to celebrate the coronation of the French king Charles X, adapted two of his Neapolitan operas for French audiences, and wrote two original works for the Paris Opéra: the comic Le Comte Ory in 1828, and the masterful Guillaume Tell in 1829. Today we see Guillaume Tell as the summit of Rossini’s career – a work of genius that fused French and Italian traditions in an innovative and highly idiosyncratic way, which not only anticipated the development of the hugely popular French grand opera but would also influence composers as diverse as Wagner and Offenbach. Rossini seems to have felt the same: he never composed another opera after Guillaume Tell.

Georges Bizet’s Carmen, 1875

Bizet’s biography reads like a catalogue of missed opportunities. His musical gifts were evident from an early age, but he spent much of his adult life scraping a living as a transcriber and rehearsal pianist. He abandoned many operatic projects, and the handful that did come to fruition rarely found success. Carmen received more performances during Bizet’s lifetime than any of his other works – but by his tragically early death on the evening of the 33rd performance on 3 June 1875, the opera was still deemed no more than a moderate succès de scandale. Three months later a new production in Vienna would launch Carmen on its way to becoming one of the most popular operas ever written.

Richard Wagner’s Parsifal, 1882

Wagner began work on his final opera as early as 1845, nearly forty years before its eventual premiere. The intervening years saw Wagner fundamentally alter the musical landscape, along the way gaining acolytes and raising hackles in equal measure. He also realized a long-cherished ambition to build an opera house specifically devoted to his own works, in Bayreuth, albeit at ruinous expense. Parsifal, a Bühnenweihfestspiel (‘stage-consecrating festival play’), was written specifically for the new theatre, and Wagner intended that it be performed only there for at least the next thirty years. He didn’t live to see his embargo broken after only a few years, as the world clamoured to hear this enigmatic, awe-inspiring final statement from an operatic master.

Giuseppe Verdi’s Falstaff, 1893

Verdi wrote his first comic opera, Un giorno di regno, in 1840. It was an unmitigated disaster, and almost led the young composer to renounce music altogether. Twenty-five operas and 53 years later, he decided to give it another go and produced Falstaff, arguably opera’s greatest comedy. Buoyed by the success of Otello, which Verdi wrote in collaboration with librettist Arrigo Boito, Verdi followed Boito’s suggestion to adapt The Merry Wives of Windsor. He and Boito worked together to craft a vivid portrait of Shakespeare’s scandalous, lecherous, life-loving knight, in a work of glorious vitality – an ebullient final testament from the 80-year-old composer.